[P] No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — you will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully. It is a strange turn of events, the Dusk Dragon has now shed his scales and become a child of Starlight. He has exchanged his Cloak of Twilight for one of Midnight Ink, draped around his shoulders as if it had been there all along. Now he stands among Shadow Dancers and Stormsingers, Crows and Courtiers — and he has never felt more at home. There is love here, within these halls, a love that is thicker than the blood in their veins. Most importantly, there is the love between friends, and the love of a man who piece by fractured piece, is putting his heart back together. Isorath could not ask for more, for the first time in what seemed like an age, he is content. Isorath does not need to look, to know Aislinn has arrived. Aether's moon hued gaze shifted, his interest humming through their bond, to rest upon the Stormsinger who gazed at him. There is that unmistakable twinge of pride, a Dragon through and through as he is witnessed and witnesses in return. A frilled tail twitched, and then curled back and forth across the trimmed grass, as finally, he dipped his great crowned head back to her in return — and resumed his basking with a lazy but satisfied rumble. Then, and only then does Isorath's own antlered head tilt, a lilac eye peering out through the sheer drapes. "In my homeland, we have hundreds like him. They glitter above the waves and in the sky like jewels cast in the light." He reminisced fondly, the sharpness in his gaze softening somewhat. 'Isorath.' "Aislinn, my dear friend." His accented voice is lilted with a warmth warmer than the sun at it's zenith. The last time they had seen each other it had been upon the precipice of change, the calm before the storm, the quiet moment before one leaped into the air and hoped the winds would carry. The promise they had made to each other is fulfilled as they gaze at one another now, a grin shared between them, that they would see each other again. Perhaps it is not on the terms that they would of expected. Aislinn is a warrior wounded by a brute in the north, and Isorath had once more left the life he knew to chase a better one. You’ve outdone yourself, my friend. This.. this is amazing. "You are too kind." The Prince smiled, the attempt at being humble is outweighed by the visible preen in the fine lines of his features. The crinkle at the corners of his amethyst eyes, the way his mouth curled ever so slightly larger at the left corner. Dragon blooded through and through. "It is the least I can do, I'm not a medic, but I can ply us with enough tea and sweets to make the day better and distract from our problems." At that, his teke reached to gently push the tray of sweets toward the Stormsinger, while he himself diverted his efforts to preparing their cups for their tea, the floral scent entwined more noticeably with the scent of incense and perfume now. "I'm glad to see I didn't send my invitation to the wrong place. How are you feeling?" TAG: @Aislinn NOTES: same, I'm ready for them to have some R&R and just relax. "this here is your speech colour!